


Without You My Heart Is Stone

by stuffnthings9



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-11
Updated: 2014-01-11
Packaged: 2018-01-08 08:28:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1130466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stuffnthings9/pseuds/stuffnthings9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Freda of Rohan had been sent to him by her father to form an alliance between the Rohirrim of Rohan and the Dwarves of Erebor. Thorin had heard the Rohirrim to be a prideful race, but as he looked down upon the girl riding toward Erebor, he saw nothing but misery. Even from afar, he could tell she was full of dread at having been sold to him. Her head was down and her shoulders slumped.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Without You My Heart Is Stone

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so. I didn’t know this until I was about 3,000 words into this story, but it’s funny we should have had the same idea… In some interview or other, Richard Armitage has said his thought was that Thorin had perhaps been in love and that it ended with Smaug. This is that story.
> 
> (ALSO it’s entirely possible that I’m way off in terms of dwarf-development, but this is just going to be AU, isn’t it, then? i'm mostly going off what's shown in the films)

She was a sad and gloomy creature, his bride to be.

 

Freda of Rohan had been sent to him by her father to form an alliance between the Rohirrim of Rohan and the Dwarves of Erebor. Thorin had heard the Rohirrim to be a prideful race, but as he looked down upon the girl riding toward Erebor, he saw nothing but misery. Even from afar, he could tell she was full of dread at having been sold to him. Her head was down and her shoulders slumped.

 

Thorin had felt strangely anxious that morning, knowing he would meet his wife just hours later. He was young, it was true, only nineteen, but in his short life, he’d not had much cause to be anxious. But a girl he’d never met… what if she didn’t like him? Or perhaps he wouldn’t like her? They might hate each other. Or worse, what if he loved her at first sight and she couldn’t stand him? He’d been told some things about her, of course. She was apparently beautiful: fair of skin and hair, with blue eyes, and tall. That worried him as well. Though he was tall among dwarves, Thorin knew Freda was likely taller than he. Perhaps she would find him entirely undesirable as he was a dwarf – short of stature with a beard and a large nose. He more closely resembled the race of men than most of his kin, he knew, but he still was not beautiful by their standards. Would a lovely Rohirric girl be able to find beauty in him?

 

His stomach ached and grumbled in turns as he stood awaiting his bride. He hadn’t been able to eat anything at breakfast, so he stood now, dizzy with hunger and nerves as he watched the girl’s approach. She rode sidesaddle up the great steps, closer and closer she grew and once he could see her face, he could feel his palms begin to sweat. She was far more beautiful than he could have imagined, more lovely than it would have been possible to describe in any case.

 

When she dismounted and stood before him, he could see the redness of her eyes and the tracks tears had made down her face, and knew he could say nothing to comfort her. She would not even look at him and he looked helplessly at his father who stood at his side. His father gave him a gentle push toward the girl and removed himself to speak with her kin. She was taller than him. He was eye-level with her shoulder and it made him feel like a foolish child.

 

“Have you bid farewell to your kin my lady?” he asked quietly, stepping toward her.

 

She nodded, stifling a sob. Thorin felt a pang in his chest and held his arm out to her.

 

“I’ll take you to your rooms,” he offered. “No one will bother you if you’d like to be alone.”

She lightly rested her hand on his arm and let him lead her through the city within the mountain, deep into the royal living quarters.

 

Her hand was warm and she walked close to him and she was so beautiful up close, Thorin’s dizziness threatened to overtake him. Nerves upon hunger upon pleasure upon despair. He didn’t know her yet in the slightest, but he thought he might love her already. She was so sad, though… perhaps when she had settled in to her new home, she would be less homesick and forlorn.

 

If he had thought Freda would have cared or listened to him at all, Thorin would have told her things about Erebor as they walked through it, pointing out the throne room, treasure room, great hall, and other points of interest they passed. Instead, he remained as silent as she did, slowly walking through his home with his betrothed on his arm. It should have been a joyous occasion, but her misery was infectious and long after he had left her in her new rooms (across the hall from his own) he was full of melancholy.

 

That night, a great feast had been arranged in honor of Freda’s arrival; a minor celebration in comparison to the wedding that would be held in two days time. It fell to Thorin to collect her from her rooms and escort her to the feast.

 

She came to the door shortly after he knocked. Her hair had been brushed and newly braided, holding it off of her face as it cascaded down her back and over her shoulders like a golden waterfall. She had changed from her travel clothes to a deep green dress of burned velvet, and she no longer smelled of sweat and horses (he had noticed it earlier, but she’d been travelling days on horseback to reach Erebor, so he’d thought little of it), instead, she smelled of soft flowers, the woods, and something sweet. As he finished looking her over, he glanced up and met her eyes. She was looking back at him for the first time, and though her eyes were sad and wet and rimmed with red, they were not full of dislike. They stood watching each other for a moment, until she gave him a wan smile. Weak as it was, it lit up her face and put a lump in his throat.

 

“You are beautiful, my lady,” he murmured.

 

Her smile grew true for just a moment and she inclined her head in bashful thanks.

 

“You are kind to say, my prince,” she replied, her voice soft and melodic. Her speech was nearly like a song, he thought. “You are very handsome, yourself.”

 

“You need not flatter me so, my lady,” he glanced away, stung by her lie.

 

“Thorin.” His name on her lips called him back. She looked at him and all he could see was honesty in her eyes.

 

“You do not look like any man of Rohan, it is true,” she began. “But that does not mean I find you displeasing.”

 

His heart swelled at her words and his nerves calmed slightly.

 

“There is a grand feast in celebration of your coming,” he told her. “Many of my people await us in the great dining hall.”

 

She paled slightly and nodded, looking down again as her eyes began to water.

 

“Of course,” he said quickly. “If you feel unable, I could tell them all that you need rest after your long journey. They would forgive you, I’m certain.”

 

“You would do that for me?” her voice was shaking. She looked up at him once more, tears now spilling down her cheeks.

 

“You are to be my wife. I would do anything for you if it meant your happiness and comfort,” he told her simply.

 

He left her then, and went alone to the feast, torn between elation and misery. She found him handsome, which was far better than he could have hoped for, but even so, she was unhappy and he could not help being upset because of it. Walking alone to a feast in honor of someone who wouldn’t be there had him feeling even glummer. He sheepishly tried to sneak into the feast unnoticed, taking his place at the head table next to his father with an empty seat at his side.

 

“Son, where is your betrothed?” his father leaned to ask him discretely.

 

“My lady is in need of rest. I assured her I would give her excuses,” he replied.

 

“Yes… perhaps a dwarfish feast her first night would be too much for the girl to handle,” Thrain agreed. “Well, have some food sent to her and forget about it. You will dine with her sure enough in two days time. For now, let the poor girl have her rest.”

 

“Yes father.” Thorin then called a servant over and instructed her to have a share of the feast brought to Freda in her rooms.

 

At the high table of the hall, Thorin was once again having trouble eating. It was strange, he thought, as he’d spent the whole day with an ache in his belly. Odd, it was, for a dwarf to have so little an appetite, especially at a time of celebration, like this. The weakness of hunger had bitten and snapped at him all day, and now, when all the food in Erebor lay before him, he could not seem to find a want for any of it. With a soft sigh, he filled his plate with bread, cheese, potatoes, wild boar, carrots, and turnips, and began picking at the lot of it. Rather than thinking of his disconsolate betrothed alone in her room, he tried to think instead of more joyful times. He kept his head down to his food to avoid any awkward conversations, and when it was over, he quickly retreated to his rooms where he paused in front of Freda’s door, considering asking her how she’d found her dinner. He thought better of it, though, and went to his own rooms instead.

 

Thorin tossed and turned most of the night. Strange dreams plagued him when he managed to sleep and the shadows crept in on him when he was awake. In the end of the night, when the sun rose, he had given up and sat watching the sunrise from the upper watch balconies of the front gate of Erebor. The changing colors of the sky against the deep green stone of the balconies held his eyes as his mind wandered. He thought of all manner of things, but most on his mind was what he should give Freda as a wedding present. Having met her, he was certain the most appreciated gift would be her happiness, but it was the one thing he could not simply hand over, and he could not promise it for certain. In lieu of a promise he wasn’t sure he could keep, Thorin went to the treasure vaults before breakfast and attempted to find a gift worthy of his betrothed.

 

There was gold as far as the eye could see. Gold and silver and other precious metals and jewels… but what Thorin sought was far more rare.

 

It was nearly hidden in the back of vault, but Thorin had seen it before and knew where to look for it. It was a shapeless hunk of pale silvery metal. Mithril. It had been uncommon before, but now, in the third age, it could only be mined in Moria… and though it would have been a nice gesture to go through so much to acquire a precious metal for a wedding gift, Moria had been abandoned and overrun by orcs for many years, and was therefore out of the question. It was lighter than it looked to be, the mithril, and Thorin bore it easily back up through the vaults and off through the city within the mountain to the forges.

 

Thorin did not often work in the forges, however it was mostly by choice, preferring to spend more time with his family than sequestered in the depths of the mountain surrounded by scorching furnaces and the sounds of pounding metal and the smell of smoke. He had been taught smithing from the time he was large enough to swing a hammer (no matter how small that hammer might have been) and by the time he was 19, he could smith anything that he could think of. Of course, he could have had the best smiths in Erebor create something for his betrothed… but he felt he should do it himself, even if it perhaps would not be quite as fine, it’s weighty meaning and his efforts would compensate for any imperfections.

 

In the forges, Thorin heated the mithril until it glowed before shaping it into a simple circle. Carefully, he formed the metal, weaving it and twisting it, building it up into a deceptively delicate looking crown. It was nowhere near the size of his grandfather’s, as Freda was simply a princess, however, he hoped she would think it just as beautiful. It was a simple thing and he tried to imagine the look of it sitting atop her golden braids. Had she been a dwarf, he would perhaps have encrusted it in jewels, making it terribly ornate and perhaps ostentatious; however, though she would take the dwarves to be her own people, his princess was still a maiden of Rohan and his gift should suit her the way she came to him, not force her to conform and leave her true self behind. There was much mithril left over as he had pulled what he was using into delicate strands to form the crown, rather than using the entirety of it. A thing their people shared was the custom of braiding one’s hair. Although, Rohirric braids tended to be elaborate with few simple adornments, if any, whereas Dwarven braids were simple with more elaborate adornments. With some of the remaining mithril, Thorin created several pieces for Freda to braid into her hair… should she choose to, and he hoped she did, as he thought the pale white of the mithril would look comely against the molten gold of her hair. He was tempted to create more gifts for her, however a rumbling in his belly alerted him that perhaps this was not the time.

 

As Thorin entered the royal dining hall, he couldn’t help the way his heart fell to find that Freda was not amongst his family sitting down to dine at the relatively small table. He took his place on the left of his grandfather and began to place food items onto his plate, in a rather mindless fashion, so that when he’d actually begun to eat, he wasn’t entirely certain what it was he was putting in his mouth – not that he was really looking or paying attention, or even cared, anyway. As he looked around the table, he noticed that Dis, his sister, was also missing. His younger brother Frerin sat across from him, looking at him with an expression of concern.

 

“Is something the matter, Thorin?” he asked, as Thorin blankly stared at his plate, occasionally forking food into his mouth.

 

“Where are Dis and Freda?” Thorin asked. It wasn’t so very strange for Freda to be missing, he supposed, as she’d not had a meal with them since her arrival the day before – probably in her room crying – but Dis never missed a meal-time. She had an enormous appetite for a five-year-old.

 

“The womenfolk have shut themselves away in Freda’s room to get her ready for the wedding tomorrow. Father says you’re not to see any of them today as it’s ill luck,” his smaller brother informed him.

 

Thorin glanced briefly at his father, wondering why he hadn’t seen fit to inform him himself, before looking back down at his food. At least nothing was amiss with either Dis or Freda.

 

“Where were you all morning?” Frerin asked, when Thorin was finishing his food.

 

“In the forges,” Thorin murmured, quickly glancing to see if his father or grandfather were listening – they weren’t, they were speaking of wedding plans or some such – before continuing. “I made a wedding gift for Freda.”

 

“What is it?” Frerin leaned across the table, his voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper.

 

“A crown. It isn’t large, and there are no jewels, but it is made of mithril.”

 

Frerin seemed to understand the need for secrecy and glanced down at the head of the table as well. The older dwarves were still much occupied.

 

“Where did you get it? Father and grandfather don’t know, do they?” he asked.

 

Thorin shook his head. It was not that what he had done wouldn’t have been permitted… however he probably should have asked first. Mithril was precious and his elders would most likely have preferred he fashion his bride a crown of gold or silver. Once he had bestowed the gift upon Freda, it could not be taken back, and however much they raged at him for it would no longer matter. Freda would have the best he could give her from the very beginning – even if she didn’t love him and hated their life together and longed to return to Rohan.

 

“I found a bit of it ages ago in the vaults. It wasn’t shaped or anything… they’ll probably be furious with me when they find out,” Thorin replied. “I made her some bits to weave into her braids as well. The Rohirric don’t adorn their braids at all.”

 

“Don’t they?” Frerin asked.

 

“No, they do complicated braids though… I wonder how she will wear her hair for tomorrow.”

 

“What does she look like?”

 

“Have you not seen her?” Thorin’s question was rather pointless, but he hadn’t realized until he’d already asked it. Frerin shook his head. “She looks like the women in Dale – the beautiful ones. Except, she is far fairer than any of them.”

 

“She was supposed to come to the feast with you last night, was she not?”

 

“She was unwell,” Thorin shrugged. “I don’t think she wants to be here. I believe she misses her home. Her father sent her here.”

 

“I want to see her,” Frerin whined softly.

 

“You will tomorrow.”

 

“Why not today?” he asked. “After all, it is you who is not allowed to see her. No one spoke anything about me being banned from the women’s things.”

 

“If you do go, will you take her something from me?” Thorin inquired, having an idea.

 

“Certainly.”

 

“Good. Come,” Thorin commanded, rising from the table and excusing himself, waiting a moment for Frerin to follow after him.

 

The princes walked through the royal section of Erebor before finally arriving in the hall that housed their rooms along with those of Dis and Freda. Thorin entered his own room with his brother quick at his heels, the fourteen-year-old nosily looking around. It was not often Thorin allowed the younger boy into his rooms, preferring them to stay private. Frerin closed the door before following Thorin to the small chest that sat on a small table at the side of his bed. He opened it and pulled out a small velvet bag that clinked and rattled as it moved.

 

“Here,” he said, holding the bag out to Frerin. The younger boy took it, not looking inside. His eyes were instead captivated by what else lie in the chest Thorin had left open. Sitting proudly upon a cushion of black velvet was the crown he had created for Freda. He had polished it once it had cooled and it shone pale white in the rather dim light of the room. Thorin followed his glance and closed the chest with a slight snap.

 

He raised an eyebrow at his younger brother, who sheepishly smiled and looked up to meet his gaze.

 

“Take that to my lady. Tell her I made them for her and that it would please me greatly if she wore them in her braids tomorrow,” Thorin told him. “And after you’ve finished gawking at my betrothed, meet me in the training hall.”

 

Frerin nodded and hurried from the room, shutting the door behind him and leaving Thorin alone. He wasted no time in changing and headed off to the training hall where he picked up a blunted practice sword and swung it around, waiting for his brother to arrive.

 

“She’s beautiful.” Frerin’s voice announced his arrival to the room as Thorin’s back was to the door. “I want a Rohirric wife.”

 

“She is,” Thorin agreed. “Did she say anything for you to tell me?”

 

“She gives you her thanks and apologized for her state yesterday,” Frerin reported. “She didn’t look very happy, though. I think she was trying not to cry. Dis told me she’s been crying on and off all day.”

 

Thorin sighed. She probably hated him, despite what she’d said yesterday. He couldn’t imagine that after having travelled for so long, missing home could still be the sole reason for such distress.

 

“I would not worry about it if I were you, brother,” Frerin jauntily told him, picking up his own blunted sword and giving it a few practice swings. “Your lady is probably just frightened of what will happen tomorrow night.”

 

“And what knowledge have you of a wedding night?” Thorin snorted haughtily, meeting swords with the younger Durin.

 

“I know as much as you,” Frerin bragged, parrying and thrusting.

 

Thorin rolled his eyes.

 

“I cannot help but think it is something more than that,” he mused. “Normal maidens do not cry this much before a wedding!”

 

“Perhaps her kin told her false stories of what dwarf men do to their women on the wedding night,” his brother suggested.

 

“Oh leave it, will you?” Thorin sighed in exasperation. “The girl is homesick… not afraid of my… well, you know.”

 

“As you say.”

 

The boys sparred in practice until they were both exhausted and covered in sweat. After cleaning themselves up, they headed to dinner. Dis had returned from doing ‘woman’s things’ all day, but refused to tell him anything of his bride, choosing instead to tease him. Thorin knew, of course, that had his sister understood how stressed and worried about the entire situation he was, she would have been kind, however, she was just five years old and he could not blame her.

 

Thorin excused himself when he was finished eating and went to his rooms for the night, pausing before Freda’s door. He considered knocking, just to ask after her – if she was alright – and to wish her a good sleep, but his brother’s words returned to him and he quickly retreated into his own room.

 

He had expected sleep to evade him for hours, but he was asleep just after he lay down his head. Fighting through the afternoon and evening had taken its toll on him and he slept easily through the night.

 

“You’ve not forgotten what day it is, brother,” a voice startled him awake. “Have you?”

 

Frerin sat at the foot of his bed resting his chin against his knee. Thorin stretched himself and sat up in bed, looking around in slight confusion.

 

“What is the hour?” he finally asked, scratching an itch beneath his chin.

 

“You’ve missed breakfast,” Frerin informed him.

 

“What?!” he exclaimed. “Why did you not come to get me?”

 

Thorin slid from his bed and hurriedly began to dress himself as Frerin looked on in amusement.

 

“I thought you were just nervous and did not want to come to breakfast,” his brother shrugged. “How was I to know you were still abed?”

 

“How long is it until I must be ready for the wedding?” he asked, splashing his face with water to further wake himself.

 

“An hour,” Frerin murmured, putting distance between them as Thorin angrily turned to look at him.

 

“You waited this long to come to me?” he nearly shouted. “I could have been late or missed the wedding entirely and you would not have thought to come and get me!”

 

“I am here now, am I not?” his brother snapped. “No one else came to wake you. Will you shout at them, too?”

 

“Yes! I should have been woken when I was late to breakfast.”

 

Thorin washed himself and dressed in haste, all the while Frerin followed behind him righting laces and buckles and out of place braids. He stood before a long glass once he had finished dressing, staring at himself for a long time. He wondered if he looked good enough to be wedded to Freda, or if he would be the clear beneficiary in the marriage.

 

“Do I look alright?”

 

“The handsomest dwarf in Erebor,” Frerin assured him, dusting his shoulders and straightening the neckline of his shirt. “She won’t be able to resist pledging herself to you. And then tonight, once the feasting is done – “

“That’s quite enough out of you,” Thorin interrupted before his brother could say anything out of order.

 

“In all seriousness Thorin, she will adore you.” All humor had gone out of Frerin’s voice and Thorin nodded nervously. He swallowed the lump in his throat and headed to the door.

 

“We would best be going, I think,” he said, and Frerin nodded, following him out of his room and pulling him along the hall when he stopped to stare at Freda’s door.

 

“You will see her soon enough brother!”

 

It seemed as though all of Erebor was in the throne hall when they arrived. Thorin paused nervously at the back of the hall before Frerin gently pushed him in and pulled him by the elbow to the front of the hall. Walking through the parting of people in the hall, he felt as if all eyes were staring at him and it made his stomach clench. He let himself be led along by his brother until the two reached the front and stood alone before their father and grandfather.

 

What seemed like hours was likely only minutes, before murmuring erupted throughout the hall and Thorin looked up to see Freda walking toward him on the arm of one of her kinsman. They were tall and fair and graceful and though he did not want to stop looking at her, Thorin lowered his eyes to the ground, shamefully aware of his own inadequacy. When he looked up again, his heart sank. Not only was Freda far too beautiful for him, she also looked absolutely miserable. Her forced smile was obvious even at this distance, as were the tears shining on her cheeks.

 

Thorin tried not to stare at her as she reached him and had her hand placed into his own. He glanced up at her though as she clenched his hand, holding to him tightly as her kinsman backed away and stood off to the side. Tears leaked from her eyes profusely, but she gave him a weak smile all the same. He vowed to honor and protect her, she vowed to love and obey him. Their hands were bound, and they were pronounced married.

 

It had taken longer than just that, of course, but the whole while, Thorin concentrated only on the way the mithril in her hair shone like white stars in a river of molten gold, and the way she clung to his hand as if it were the only thing keeping her on the earth.

 

She could have let go, Thorin thought, once it was finished. There was a grand celebration in the hall. Food and drink were brought in and they were expected to be merry, and though her eyes were still red and watery, Freda clung to him. No matter what he did, she refused to let go of his hand, and he thought perhaps it was not him that was causing her to be so sad.

 

“Are you well my lady?” he asked, once they had been left alone to their food. “Is everything pleasing?”

 

“Of course,” she said, looking at him. “I am overjoyed and mournful all at once. I miss my home, and yet I feel so loved here.”

 

“You are loved, my lady,” Thorin murmured.

 

Their eyes met and he quickly looked away.

 

“My name is Freda,” she told him.

 

“I know.”

 

“Thorin,” he looked at her again. “I am your wife, now. I would like it if you called me Freda.”

 

“As you wish,” he mumbled shyly.

 

“I have a gift for you,” Freda said, as if only just then remembering it.

 

It was horse tack. Made by the finest craftsmen in Rohan, she assured him. It was beautiful, shiny leather with inlaid designs. He supposed it was fitting, as Rohan was the land of the horselords, but he was not sure what he would do with it – he did not have a horse.

 

“Thank you,” he said, putting on a false large smile, as if he could think of no greater present. She saw through this.

 

“I have displeased you,” she muttered, her shoulders slumping.

 

“No!” he assured her. “It is magnificent… it’s just that,” he paused awkwardly. “I don’t have a horse.”

 

Freda smiled at him in earnest, then.

 

“I could not very well have a horse brought into the hall, could I have?” she asked him. “He awaits you outside, but I suppose it can wait until tomorrow.”

 

“You have brought me a horse?” he asked incredulously. “Is it… will I fit?”

 

“Though I was tempted to bring you the most gallant of the Mearas, I believe I chose more wisely. Swiftfoot is well tempered and as swift as his name, and is only slightly larger than a pony,” she explained. “Of course, if you like, we could sneak to the stables and I could show you now.”

 

“I believe we would be missed,” Thorin told her, looking around at their guests. “Besides, I have not yet bestowed my gift upon you.”

 

Thorin raised an eyebrow at Frerin who quickly went to fetch the small chest in Thorin’s room that held the crown of mithril.

 

“I cannot say it was crafted by the finest hands of Erebor,” Thorin mumbled, when Frerin returned and handed the chest over to Freda. “But its value is beyond anything else.”

 

The hall quieted suddenly as she pulled the crown out and looked at it in awe. All eyes in the room seemed to be focused on the mithril in her hands. Thorin glanced warily at his father and grandfather who were also staring at the crown his wife held. He quickly looked away when Thror frowned suspiciously.

 

“Is it silver?” Freda asked, placing it atop her head.

 

“It is mithril,” he corrected, reaching to adjust and straighten the crown, brushing his fingers through her elaborately braided hair, as he did. “It can no longer be mined as it only exists now in Moria.”

 

“Is it an artifact of your people?” she wondered, tracing her fingers along the woven strands of metal.

 

“The metal is many years old,” he clarified. “I wrought the crown myself only yesterday. I tried to emulate your braids.”

 

“Its beauty is unsurpassed,” she declared. “I cannot thank you enough.”

 

Thorin smiled at her, pleased she had liked his gift. He quickly glanced at his father and grandfather, who by this time were both frowning at him.

 

“I think perhaps a dance?” he suggested, pulling his bride into the throng of dwarves who were dancing in the center of the room. It gave him an excuse to put his arms around her for the first time, and once she was in his arms, she clung to him, pressing them tightly chest to chest.

 

They danced until he was dizzy with happiness and she seemed to have forgotten her sadness and was smiling in his arms.

 

“To bed, I think?” Freda murmured against his temple.

 

The celebration had not died down in the slightest, and though dwarvish custom was that the newly wedded pair were traditionally the last to leave, Thorin let himself be pulled along through the crowd by Freda.

 

“What is it your people do?” he asked.

 

“We are to be taken to separate rooms, undressed, and then put to bed together,” she told him quietly, her arms slung around him. Her smile had disappeared once more and her eyes were beginning to water.

 

“We could have that done, if you like,” Thorin said quickly, trying to make her happy again.

 

“No, no, it’s alright,” she assured him. “We will do this your way… how is it done your way?”

 

“Once the festivities are through, the man and wife are the last to leave and they go to bed together,” he explained.

 

“Oh,” Freda sighed. “Well, I suppose a mixture of both ways is fitting.”

 

“Whatever you wish,” he affirmed.

 

She led him to the edge of the hall, and then, not knowing which direction to go in, let herself be picked up and carried by him to a different section of the royal rooms than their usual rooms were in. Despite being shorter than she, Thorin was well-built and muscular and had no trouble at all cradling her in his arms as he walked through the green halls of Erebor.

 

“Is this the way to our rooms?” Freda asked him, as he neared their destination.

 

“We have been granted new rooms together, fitting a wedded couple,” he explained. “Our new rooms are near those of my father and grandfather.”

 

When he came to the door to their rooms, Thorin balanced Freda on his knee and opened the door, carrying her in and closing it behind him. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! This is a work in progress, but it's very slow-going, so encouragement helps! I just really wanted to at least post the first chapter. I'm currently working on the 2nd - 4th (they're told in different perspectives at different times) so I'd definitely appreciate comments and such! Anyway, thanks again!


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